Rooftop Rendezvous
by WolvenHeart
Summary: Just before the anniversary of the Fiendish Five's attack on his family, Sly climbs atop the Paris rooftops to think. But when something goes wrong, will our favorite vixen be his savior, or his downfall? [SlyxCarmelita]
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: While I eagerly await Sly 3: Honor Among Thieves (yay!) I decided to write up a little fic. So as not to confuse people... this is not a one-shot. This is probably a two-parter, maybe more, and I promise it will have a happy ending for fellow SlyxCarmelita fans.

Reviews are gladly appreciated.

So without further ado...

_Sly Cooper_

in

**Rooftop Rendezvous**

Night fell deftly on the Paris rooftops, cascading over the rough stone, pooling down into the streets. A figure sat silently, alone, a statue among the mobile city below. The silhouette idly twirled something in long, dexterous fingers - a lithe cane, not for any sort of crutch, but some odd perception of distinguished heritage; a family secret passed on in the form of an innocent item.

Sly Cooper was not one heavily bent on introspection. There were times, however, when he needed to slow down, and it was in those times that his thoughts caught up with him. So it was those times that he would quietly slip out of the comfort of the Cooper Gang's Headquarters, scale a fire escape ladder, and nimbly travel from building to building until he reached a particular spot.

And there he sat, police cars down below, officers none the wiser. On the wall in front of him a weather-worn banner read "Le Police Internationale". Directly in his line of sight was a rugged sort of balcony encasing glass windows that depicted an office. A light burned dimly where most others had gone out. The hint of an agitated, twitching tail cast long shadows across the wall. He watched them in comfortable silence, allowing them to be the backdrop for his thoughts.

Tomorrow would mark another year since the Fiendish Five incident. Incident. He smirked at that. What a cold, informal word he had devised. Using words such as that, it seemed only appropriate that he was sitting in front of one of the largest police organizations. His thoughts trailed away, but were reigned in once more by the nagging realization that yes, tomorrow was the day.

He had spent his life trying to avenge his family and live up to the Cooper name, but when he stopped to consider it in times of solitude, he found that he'd been chasing his own insecurity. He had been so useless; so helpless, but for the other 364 days he could forget about that and concentrate on the task at hand. Tomorrow would be the day he could not.

Bentley and Murray would be sensitive to his memories, as always. They would go out somewhere, take the van and drive for a while, pull off some ridiculous, low-class scheme just for the fun of it. They would come back to the hideout, maybe have a few drinks, and then his companions would drift off to sleep, leaving him vulnerable to his thoughts once more. It was no fault of their own - they tried, and Sly was grateful for such friends - but inevitably he would always end up in the same place. Back in the Cooper house. Watching his life ripped away. Watching.

Sly shook his head. It was time to stop thinking. He stood and climbed along one of the building's highest beams, getting a better view of the Interpol officer's window. He couldn't explain it. Well, he supposed that wasn't entirely true. He just might be able to explain it, but whatever the case, somehow slipping back into the routine helped him feel more comfortable, and nothing more so than harassing a certain cop.

Carmelita Fox mulled over the documents before her, her tail twitching frantically. Her eyes threatened to close (and did, on several occasions), but still she read every word of the case file for what seemed like the millionth time, hoping that if she read it enough - comprehended it a little bit better - she would come to understand something that might help her, and ultimately, she admitted, make her a better officer.

That was, after all, what it was all about. She had to improve. She had to be better. She had to finish what she started. Recognized mostly for her beauty, rarely for her talents, she always wanted to push forward, to make people see her skills first. It was hard enough to be taken seriously as a female officer at Interpol, but it seemed even worse for Inspector Fox. Her personal standards drove her forward with such dogged persistence, but at times, they became draining, and not just physically.

She had the headlines for the Fiendish Five. She'd logged the records for the Klaww Gang. But the back of her mind made sure she remembered that she hadn't done all the work. Someone had been there, every time. Sometimes she saw him. Sometimes his presence at first eluded her. But she knew he was there, and she was always a step behind; never good enough.

She raked a nail over the thin paper, nearly ripping it, and emitted a low growl and huff of frustration.

"You're so cute when you're angry."

That cool, velvet-laden voice pooling into the room. It could only be one person. She whirled with such force that she knocked over her chair.

"Cooper!"

He was just outside her window, hanging precariously from the fire escape by the crook of his cane.

"See, I rest my case. The fire in those big, beautiful eyes. The ruffle of that gorgeous fur. Really, Inspector, how could anyone resist?"

Carmelita was fuming. She had spent the day glaring at fellow officers making lewd comments in passing, and now she had to hear them from the thief who continued to prove to her, day in and day out, that she still wasn't good enough.

"Shut it, Ringtail. You walk right into my privacy like this, you're walking right to your grave."

"Such poetic flow of language, such rhythm of--"

Sly's flirtatious commentary was cut off by a buzzing flash of light rattling the ladder from which he hung. He used his cane to propel himself away from the iron structure just before the Inspector blasted it again, sending it crashing down against the building. As he landed on top of the closest structure she leapt out onto the balcony, aiming once more.

Their chase continued, just as it always did. With every powerful blast from her shock pistol, the force pushing up into her arms, Carmelita felt a bit of her frustration release. Even if he always had surer footing than she, better reflexes, or craftier escape routes, at least she could blast something.

Sly made a running leap, landing gracefully atop a lone spire. Carmelita pulled the trigger once more, sending the shock wave toward the nimble raccoon. But something was different. As she readied herself to follow him quickly, she realized she didn't have to. Sly Cooper had stopped.

The blast hit him dead-on, the Inspector's aim never better. She watched as he writhed, emitting a pained yelping noise. The top of his body began to topple over, as if it were now too heavy to be supported. His feet slipped lifelessly from the spire and he fell backward, the Cooper cane sliding from his relaxed grasp. There was a loud crash of glass breaking, and then nothing.

Carmelita was stunned. He had just stood there… stood there! That wasn't part of the deal. That wasn't part of their elegant routine. Cooper ran, like the criminal he was, and she chased, hoping to corner him. But he had remained motionless, not even looking at the shock blast that was heading toward him. Instead, his attention seemed to be transfixed on something else, and he appeared deeply captivated. But in the next moment, that light was gone from his eyes, replaced by her searing electric bolts.

She ran to the edge of the building, carried by some intangible force. He had shattered the glass in one of Interpol's old prison keeps, an archaic clash of old and new. She couldn't see him down below, but it occurred to her that she might not want to see him. She cringed, but her feet continued to carry her downward, climbing carefully along the ledges, approaching the building from an angle.

She would find him, cuff him, and once he proved to be perfectly alright, she would bring him into the chief in the morning.

_But what if he's not 'perfectly alright'? What if you killed him? _Carmelita's mind questioned her motives.

_Then that's one less criminal in the world._

She swallowed hard, forcing down the uneasy feeling in her stomach. Her features had grown pale, her pulse increasing significantly. As she made her descent, she made herself believe it was just adrenaline.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews on chapter one! … so much for this being a two-parter. ;)

Darkness. He could hear a loud roaring. Pain wracked his body, traveling in brutal waves. It felt as though a great weight sat upon his eyelids, but he fought it with everything he could gather. He wanted to see, as if seeing would suddenly clarify the fog that filled his mind. Slowly, he forced his eyes open.

He scanned his surroundings. Bars. Prison bars. Suddenly he remembered. He had ducked in to pester Carmelita, hoping their casual game might raise his spirits. It had, actually. The chase was exhilarating. He had once stated that it wouldn't be as fun if she weren't chasing, and it was true.

But something had happened. He went to perform Rioichi's spire jump, and executed it flawlessly. But as he readied his legs to propel himself away, he saw it. An ominous shadow, set against the moon. An owl with a heart of frozen metal. The culmination of all his fears; all of his failures. Clockwerk.

In an instant, it was gone; a conjured image carried away by the wind. Still he crouched, his body paralyzed, his mouth agape. That's when he felt it. It was freezing cold and searing heat all at once. A toxic substance corrupting his nerves, traveling the length of his spine. He felt his limbs crumpling, slowly, torturously. From his mouth flew a sound of excruciating pain. He was suspended in the air, or so he thought, and for a fleeting instant he wished whatever had hit him would just finish the job. Then the darkness had come.

That explained the stiff, wrenching pain, but how had he gotten… Suddenly he remembered, and the weight on his mind grew heavier, pounding against his temples. He was sprawled flat on the floor of a straw-covered cell, metal bars locking him in. She had finally done it, just as she always said she would. For reasons Sly cared not to think about at that moment, bitterness coursed through his veins.

"Good, you're awake. You were getting boring." The cool voice betrayed a hint of worry, but Sly's head was pounding too hard to distinguish.

He tried to remember how to make his body move, but was at a loss. After an awkward spasm, he let out a defeated groan.

"What… happened?" The words were forced from his throat.

Carmelita turned toward him, directing the gaze she had been averting. Something seemed to surprise her, and he saw her wince, her ears flattening just a bit. Her eyes betrayed little more, and Sly found himself wondering what she might be thinking. Still, his own thoughts were clearly visible in his eyes. Despair. Frustration. Defeat. She had what she'd wanted all along. What did she want from him now?

"You fell," she stated simply and quietly.

Sly chuckled dryly, an action that erupted into a violent coughing fit. When he recovered, he spoke just as plainly.

"So kind of you to state the obvious, Inspector." He didn't see her scowl, but he could feel it. "So, what fine establishment of imprisonment have you dragged me off to? And come to think of it, why are you still here? Isn't there some prison guard that could do your dirty work? Or did you want the joy of my suffering to be in your sweet hands?"

Sly practically winced at the caustic sting of his own words. He didn't mean them. Not in their entirety, at least. But the betrayal he felt threatened to overcome his weary heart.

"Listen, ringtail, if you wanna jump to conclusions that's your own business, but you got yourself into this mess." Her accent always seemed thicker when she was yelling at him.

"Uh… weren't you that one that shot me?"

"You're a criminal." Her statement faltered just the slightest. "And I haven't brought you anywhere… yet."

Sly took the opportunity to better scan his surroundings. It was dark, and getting darker as the moon's light was overcome by what must have been a passing cloud. Still, he could see that he and Carmelita were the only occupants in the small building. He looked up and saw the shattered glass which also lay in small fragments about him. Judging by the tiny cuts all over his body, he must have fallen through.

"What is this place?"

"The old prison keep, at Interpol. It hasn't been used in over fifty years."

"Sounds… pleasant." He was pushing himself up, or trying to. He found he could move his arms, but still they felt heavy and awkward. Excessive strength had never run in the Cooper line, but he fathomed everything he could, forcing his uncooperative body into a sitting position, leaning himself against the wall.

Carmelita almost moved to help him. Her arm even so much as flinched toward him, then stopped, hanging in loose gesture. Her mind grew indignant. _If only he hadn't been stupid enough to get shot._

"You still didn't answer one of my questions," he began through labored breaths. "Why are you still here?"

The question Carmelita had been dreading. Before her mind could think about it too much, her mouth gave a curt answer.

"Let's get one thing straight, Cooper. I don't want to be here."

"You think I do," he mumbled, but for the most part, she ignored him.

"I don't want to be here, but I don't like leaving things unsettled. Just because you're a criminal… I'm not completely heartless, you know. Alright?"

"Alright."

"So now we're even."

Sly stopped to think for a minute, then laughed. "Even? My dear Carmelita… how does you shooting me, but graciously checking to make sure I wasn't dead, make us even?"

"I wouldn't have shot you if you'd just moved! You're always faster, and I know you have enough of an ego to admit it. But you just stood there!"

She was hit by a stoic silence, then an offhanded reply.

"Well, I'm not dead. You can leave now."

Carmelita was taken aback. She'd never seen him act so cold. Even with what happened, something was out of place. _Stupid raccoon, why didn't you just move?_ She didn't ask. Instead she replied with her own callous remark.

"For your information, I can't. The only way out of here is that door, and it's locked from the outside. Only maintenance and the chief have the key."

"Ahh, that does explain it." Sly rolled over, no longer facing her. The hairs raised on the back of his neck in response to some stimuli; she could only assume it was pain. "When's maintenance gonna' come so you can toss me in a more comfortable cell?"

Carmelita huffed in derision. "In the morning. And just for that, I think I will throw you in jail, broken bits and all. I was going to let you go, but you had to be a smartass about it, and I -- " She stopped, realizing her rant might as well be hitting a brick wall. "Raccoon, are you listening to me?"

Silence.

"Cooper? Sly?" Worry etched its way into her voice, stunning her senses. Her mind sunk into morbid images of a world without Sly Cooper, and to her great surprise, she wasn't happy about it at all. The very sight of his injuries, and the fact that they might be quite serious, clenched at something within her as it was.

"Nnngh…" He turned back over to face her. The cuts that marred his face were drying, staining bits of his fur. After searching her features for a moment, he started to turn once more.

"Oh no you don't." Carmelita grabbed his arm, and almost instantly released as he winced. "You can't go to sleep."

"I'm tired." He was whining like a child, and she smirked.

"That's too bad. Start talking."

He looked at her quizzically, his conscience hazy. "Huh?"

"Start talking, Cooper. You have to stay awake, and if you can't do it on your own, I'm going to make you."

"Why, Inspector… I never knew you'd want to take me by force. Should we get some chains? Maybe a whip?" It was a weak attempt. He was smiling - smirking, maybe - but the gesture did not reach his eyes.

She ignored his sarcastic humor, instead focusing on the fact that his words were slurred together. Not a good sign. She wondered if he'd hit his head when he fell. She watched him carefully. He was trying to push himself into a more upright position, and this time she did offer her assistance, her hand helping to brace his back as he adjusted. He looked a bit puzzled, then sighed.

"Fine. What do you want me to talk about?"

Carmelita took off her jacket, her hands seeming to move by their own accord, and placed it behind him to help prop him up.

"First, tell me why you didn't move."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Wow, it's been a long time. I apologize for letting this lapse that long. I originally started writing it during an evening class at uni, and when the class was over, I stopped writing. I owe it to the folks that have stuck with me to finish it, however. I hope some of you have continued to keep me on watch, and thank you for your continued support. You're all the best. :D

This is a short one, since I'm trying to get back into the feel of the story, but here goes.

------------------

"First, tell me why you didn't move."

An embittered Sly Cooper turned to face her, but upon finding no trace of malice - only a tinge of confusion - in Caremlita's expression, his own softened just the slightest, and he shrugged.

"I thought I saw something."

"Something? Like what, Cooper?"

"A bird." He smirked, then groaned as he shifted his weight, feeling around for something.

"Hey, you shouldn't be moving like that. What do you need?"

"Why Inspector, I didn't know you cared so much."

Carmelita's fur ruffled and she turned an icy glare on Sly. "I don't, ringtail."

Her gaze followed to where his hand was fumbling for something. Some sort of communicator clipped to his belt, though it was not the binnocucom she had seen before. This device was somewhat... generalized. In fact, it looked quite similar to the two-way radio communicator she usually kept strapped to her own belt.

"Isn't that a little low-tech for your turtle friend?"

She clutched her hand around it, snatching it out of his reach before he could lean over any further, and examined it.

"... this is a police comm!"

Sly pushed himself up against the wall with a groan and waggled one finger, the playful spark coming back into his eyes. "It _was_ a police comm. Take a look at the bottom."

Carmelita turned the small unit over and searched the bottom, her eyes instantly narrowing. Her voice slid through clenched teeth, dripping with disdain. "Cooper..."

"Relax, Inspector. Remember a few months ago, you dropped your comm off your clip? Hey, don't give me that look... you did drop it! I was kind enough to pick it up for you. I planned on giving it back, once it was fixed. But you broke it pretty good. It only accepts incoming transmissions now. Here, look."

He reached out and grabbed the comm unit, flicking the dial past several channels of static. A lowhum flared to life, the sound reverberating off of the bare walls, until finally a voice crackled over it.

"...approaching 62nd Avenue. Be advised suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Approach with extreme caution."

He turned the dial back until onlythe low hum could be heard, apparently waiting to pick up some other signal. As he moved to set the comm between them, something suddenly changed in his expression. His teeth clenched and his eyes squinted shut. His wrist locked and his fingers lost their grip on the unit. After a suspended moment of what looked to Carmelita like intense pain, he let out a half-groan, half-yelp, and sank back to the floor, all traces of humor gone from his eyes.

Carmelita looked down. "The shock gun is programmed to send electrical pulses through the nerves every half hour, three times, in case the suspect is trying to flee."

"Flee? Where am I going to flee to, you hit me dead on!"

She began to berate him in a tone befitting a higher rankingofficer scolding an inferior. "I wouldn't have hit you if you hadn't just stood there! A bird... what are you doing looking at a bird in the middle of the night when you're being _shot at_, Cooper!"

Sly groaned out one word, and Carmelita blanched. "Clockwerk."

"That's impossible, Clockwerk was destroyed."

Clockwerk. Carmelita turned the name over in her mind. What if it was true? He was certainly never lacking in intelligence or ingenuity. What if he had somehow rebuilt? But then again... what if Sly had just imagined it...

"Sly...?" He was falling asleep again, or so it seemed. He hadn't moved. She could barely see the ragged rise and fall of his chest.

"What made you want to be a cop, Carmelita?"

The question caught her offguard. He wasn't even facing her when he asked, and his tone was distant, yet something told her he was not just spouting off random babble. Apparently, thisinterrogation was going to go both ways...

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Sorry again for such a short length. I may revise this later, but for now, just brainstorming to get back into it. Thanks for remaining constant readers. If you like my work, I post original and other writing at http// sawritings . livejournal . com (Direct link in my profile) Feel free to leave comments, they're very appreciated.


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